Rita Rita Margarita
by Zighana
Summary: One-shot: Rita was so sweet, so perfect, it hurts. BrianxRita crack!fic bloodplay (slight) moderate violence moderate language, slight OOC, but nothing too serious.


**Rita Rita Margarita**

It had been months since Brian had been around a blonde. Normally he avoids them like the plague; they're too stupid, predictable, vain.

Until he met Rita.

Rita's so sweet; her warm smile is enough to make Brian check his mouth for cavities. It makes his heart ache, much to his horror.

He blames it on Dexter, the way those two are so badly damaged around the edges they seem to fit perfectly together like leftover puzzle pieces. He blames Dexter for using her as camouflage while he uses Debra as his, leading him to be stuck in the house with those two women when all he wants is his brother. Worst of all, he blames Rita for allowing himself to be in this situation.

Rita looks so much like his mother it scares him and arouses him at the same time.

They were having a double date sleepover for the weekend; Dexter left the house to tend to the estate of his deceased father while Debra left for some brew and won't be back for the next two hours.

It was he and Rita.

Rita kept herself busy in the kitchen: cooking, cleaning, calling her children to see if they're okay, while Brian sat in the living room flipping through old magazines, sneaking glances at the bubbly blonde.

He knows it's wrong to look at another man's woman, especially his brother's, but he can't stop. He marvels at how easy it would be to kill her at this moment, make the light in her eyes vanish as quickly as it entered. He could strangle her with the telephone cord, stab her with the assortment of cutlery she's using, bash her head against the countertops. The possibilities are endless. He puts his magazine down and walks towards her, his experience of stalking benefiting him as he's so close behind her he could smell her. Sweat mixed with alcohol and sugary perfume is the cocktail that intoxicates him. Her fear is even better; her jumping with a scream excites his sadistic side to no end.

"Rudy," she gasps, hand to her neck. Her beautiful, perfect, neck.

"You scared me, I never knew you were right behind me! Is there something you need in the kitchen?" Her airy voice gives him a calming effect, quieting those frantic voices in his head eager for blood.

"_Rita, Rita, Margarita_," Brian sings out, inching towards her.

"You have a very beautiful and intoxicating name, do you know what?"

Rita backs away, already regretting putting the knives back in their rightful place atop the cupboards. Rudy's scaring her; she always had the creeps around him but she could never pinpoint why. His demeanor is finally giving her a valid reason.

The fear in her eyes makes Brian keep going, singing a tune he sang when he played in his old garage band some lifetime ago.

"_Rita, Rita, Margarita, a taste that no one can touch_," he croons, grabbing her thin wrists with his large hand and pinning her to the wall with his body, his other hand snaking up to touch her face.

"If Debra or even _Dexter_ finds out about this, you sick fuck-"

"—I don't give a damn about Dexter or Deb right now, _Margarita_. You and I both know you won't tell a soul," Brian cuts her off, seeing her bluff etched in her face. She's so weak, submissive, it makes his primal urges take root.

He wants to dominate her, conquer her and make her his property and his alone. The look in her eyes says it all. He has to have her. Now.

He slams his lips against hers, not caring if she's uncooperative. He forces her to cooperate, pushing his tongue past her lips to taste her. When she bit him and drew blood it turned him on even more. He resumed the kissing, marking her mouth with the coppery liquid. When she pulled away and vomited on the hardwood floor, Brian feels satisfied.

"You taste just like a margarita: Salty, tangy, bitter. But much more addictive," He whispers in her ear before retreating to the living room to read his magazine. All is calm until he feels a knife pressed against his throat.

The knife plunges into his arm, spilling blood into his expensive silk shirt. Brian jumps up and lunges for Rita, who's swinging the knife at him like a banshee warrior from hell. They fight, they tussle, until Rita is on top of him punching him in the face, calling him every name in the book. Brian knows it's remarkably easy to overpower her and hurt her, but he doesn't.

She's turning him on even more.

He eventually got bored of the foreplay and flips her on her back, staring down at her frazzled state. Hair askew, face flushed and bloody, knuckles gently bruised from impact. Eyes full of hatred and spite.

She's beautiful.

He kisses her again, much to her disapproval, and gets off her and steals her knife.

"Little girls shouldn't play with knives," he jokes, twirling the knife.

"Why did you do this?" Rita asks, voice hoarse and tired.

"Because I wanted to." Brian answered, before checking his arm for any severe damage.

"You better change, unless you want to raise eyebrows about what went on between us,"

Rita saw the knife twirls as a warning. She, defeated, retreats to her room to change while Brian composes himself accordingly.

Within the nick of time, Debra and Dexter enter simultaneously, with groceries nonetheless. Brian breezes through the pleasantries while eyeing for Rita to come in. She enters, bubbly and sunny, the perfect actress. They chit-chat, until Debra asks, "What happened to your face, Rudy?"

Shit.

"I was-"

"—watching soccer with me and things got out of hand when he argued that Madrid played better than Mexico," Rita answered quickly. Dexter eyed her suspiciously, but otherwise nodded his head and continued to drink his beer in silence.

"You must be real fucking serious about your soccer," Debra says.

"Yep. Just ask Dexter," all eyes point to Dexter, who nods silently and sips his beer.

"Gave me one hell of a shiner after we argued over the championships," he replies. That seemed to be confirmation enough, and the elephant in the room vanished.

When it was time for bed, everyone said their goodnights, except for Rita and Brian. Due to forced politeness, they squared off and gave each other a hug.

"Hope you have a good night's sleep, Rudy. It will be the last one you'll ever have when I bury you," Rita whispers in his ear. She retreats to her room with an artificial smile, and disappears with the click of a door.

Brian smiles.

Dexter really knows how to pick them.

**AN: This was a crack-fic that's been in my head for a while. I apologize if the characters are WAY OOC but I had to write it. Hope you enjoyed! P.s. I don't own Dexter. If I did, the tragedy that is Season 8 would've NEVER happened. **


End file.
